CHAPTER 3: The Investigator

Aria's POV 

Morning light came through the kitchen windows like it always did. I sat across from Flynn at the breakfast table. The coffee smelled bitter. I did not touch it. I made eggs and toast like nothing had changed, stared at my plate and said nothing. The silence felt thick enough to choke on.

He tried once. “Aria, can we talk about last night?”

I looked up. My eyes felt heavy. “No.”

“But Hon–”

“I said NO” 

He nodded. He ate a few bites. I pushed my food around with a fork. Every swallow looked like it hurt him. Good. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to feel even a small piece of what sat in my chest. I finished my water, stood up, and left the kitchen without another word. I grabbed my bag and drove to the gallery. The streets passed in a blur.

Vincent noticed something wrong the moment I walked in. He did not push. He just gave me space to work on the new exhibit. I moved paintings around and checked labels. My hands stayed busy. My mind did not. Every few minutes the name Sienna Thornfield flashed behind my eyes. Five thousand dollars. Eight months. A woman with my husband’s last name.

Jordan came by at lunch. She carried two sandwiches and set them on the back table. One look at my face and she pulled me into the small office. She closed the door.

“Babe, you look like death,” she said. “What is going on?”

I sat on the edge of the desk. The words came out flat. “I think my husband is having an affair.”

Jordan’s eyes went wide. “You think?” 

I nodded. 

“Why do you say so?”

I told her everything. The bank statements. The name. The way Flynn would not explain. The way he said it was complicated and he was protecting me. Jordan listened without interrupting. When I finished she pulled me into a tight hug.

“Jesus Ari, That's a lot babe.”

“ Since he won't tell me who she is. I don't even know for sure."

"What are you going to do?"

I'd been thinking about it all night and I'd made a decision.

"Remember when Shelly got divorced you got her a lawyer. You said she was incredible."

Jordan nodded slowly. "Sarah Mendoza. She's good."

"Does she know any private investigators?"

"Aria-"

"I have to know." My voice cracked. "I can't ask him again. He's just going to lie. I need the truth."

Jordan pulled out her phone. "I'll text Sarah right now. But if this is true, I will help you bury his body if you need,” she said. Her voice tried for humor but landed serious. 

“I don't need bodies Jay” I smiled a little. 

She called Sarah and spoke to her. My voice stayed steady when I explained the situation. She listened and gave me the name of a private investigator she trusted. Rebecca Cole. Female. Professional. Discreet.

I hired her using my own savings. The money I kept separate from our joint accounts. 

Rebecca asked for the transfer details and Sienna’s name. She said she would start right away. I hung up and felt something shift inside me. Numb rage turned into action. I would not sit and wait. I would find out the truth myself.

The next forty eight hours became hell.

I went home that night and pretended everything was normal. Flynn tried to talk again. I gave him short answers and went to bed early but I barely slept. My stomach stayed in knots. Every time I closed my eyes I saw those bank statements. I saw Flynn’s pale face and denial written all over it. 

At the gallery the next day my hands shook while I painted a small test piece. The brush slipped twice. I cleaned up and kept working. I drank coffee until my stomach burned. I barely ate. Jordan brought food and watched me force down a few bites. She did not leave my side much. Vincent gave me quiet tasks. No one asked too many questions which I was grateful for.

At home too, Flynn slept in the guest room. We moved around each other like strangers. The silence in our house felt louder than any fight. I lay in our bed at night and stared at the ceiling. My mind ran through every memory of the last seven months. The late nights. The vague work trips. The way he sometimes checked his phone when he thought I was not looking. Every small thing now looked like a clue.

Wednesday evening my phone rang while I sat in the gallery after closing. The number was Rebecca’s. I answered quickly. My heart beat hard against my ribs.

“I found her,” Rebecca said. Her voice stayed gentle but direct. “And Ms. Sinclair… you’re going to want to sit down for this.”

I sank into the chair near my desk. “Tell me.”

“Her name is Sienna Thornfield. She is twenty four years old. She’s seven months pregnant. The apartment Flynn pays for is in her name. The transfers match the rent and other expenses exactly.”

Seven months. The words landed like stones. I stared at the wall across from me. A painting I had hung last week suddenly looked blurry.

“He’s been lying to me since before our third anniversary,” I said. My voice sounded far away.

Rebecca stayed quiet for a moment. “There’s more if you want it. Photos. Location. But only if you’re ready.”

I told her I would call back tomorrow. I hung up and sat there in the empty gallery. The exposed brick walls felt like they were closing in. My hands shook so bad I dropped my phone. It clattered on the floor. I did not pick it up right away.

Seven months pregnant. Another woman. My husband’s money. My husband’s name. Everything I thought I knew about my marriage cracked open in that moment. The stakes felt bigger than I could hold. This was not just a lie. This was a whole secret life. And I had lived next to it for seven months without seeing it.

I picked up my phone. The screen was still lit. I stared at Rebecca’s number. Tomorrow I would ask for the rest and I would see the face of the woman who helped break my world. But tonight I just sat there and let the truth settle into my bones.

And it hurt more than I expected.